Finnigan's Wake
by The Cynic
Summary: At school, Seamus prefers to avoid the limelight. He's overlooked, as a boy and as a hero. The summer after fourth year, however, the necessity of events drive him to action... (Contains NewAndImproved!Seamus, Cute!Seamus, and Shirtless!Seamus. ;)


'Cause everybody wants a dream  
  
Something they can barely see  
–Weezer, "Photograph."  
  
FINNIGAN'S WAKE  
  
Uneasily, he slept.  
  
There was something that he could sense, and he knew that he needed to get to it, or a horrible thing would happen. It was there and he could feel it, but it danced teasingly away. The dreamscape twisted into new and interesting patterns, snagging his attention away from the tiny figment that he felt was important. Struggling to reach it, he threw out his hands in a blind effort. No use – no use. His slippery fingers simply fell short of that invisible dream-thing that hovered out of reach. The world fell away, too, leaving him whirling through an endless blackness. With a start, he jumped—  
  
And woke. Blue eyes snapped open suddenly, wide and manic in a flushed face. The boy scrambled to sit up, the bed damp with sweat. He scrubbed a hand across his face and lay back down again, staring at the ceiling. Already the dream was fading from him, but the sense of lingering worry remained. He scanned the room carefully again, and saw that the other boys still slept peacefully. In the next bed over his best friend snorted and turned on his side.  
  
Sighing, Seamus Finnigan closed his eyes and slipped effortlessly back into the realm of dream.  
  
-  
  
Seamus glanced sideways at Dean Thomas as they sat in the train compartment. "Um, I'm just going to warn you, Dean," he said.  
  
"Warn me about what?" Dean asked, amused because Seamus was being so serious.  
  
"My family. They're a bit – um – loud?"  
  
"I've got three brothers, too. I think I'll be able to survive your family, Seamus."  
  
"I have /three/ brothers and /two/ sisters. And they're all—"  
  
"Like you?"  
  
"Well – basically." There were six Finnigan children. Two had already graduated from Hogwarts: Caoilte (a Mediwizard with a clinic in Galway) and Ciarán (a Chaser for the Kenmare Kestrels). Máirín, his elder sister, was going to be a seventh year. After Seamus, there were two younger siblings, Reid and Síle, who were not yet old enough to attend the school.  
  
"Don't worry, man. I'll be fine. Besides, I'll only be there for a couple weeks – what harm could they do?"  
  
"You don't know my family," Seamus said, starting to grin, "And if you think they're going to give you an easy time, you're in for some rude surprises."  
  
"What's there to worry about?" Dean asked, "It's summer!"  
  
"Yeah," Seamus said, "What's there to worry about?"  
  
By mutual agreement the two boys left the compartment and wandered the train. Loud explosions told them that many of the other students were playing Exploding Snap, a game that Dean had never been fond of. Seamus grinned and looked up at the taller boy. "Still fancy that soccer's the best game around?" he asked, needling one of Dean's few sore spots.  
  
"'Course it is!" Dean said hotly, "Soccer's got complexity—"  
  
"And fourteen players on broomsticks isn't complex?"  
  
"No, but – what's this?" Dean asked suddenly, having stepped on something soft and squishy accidentally.  
  
A malicious grin spread slowly across Seamus' face. "Why," he said, aping surprise, "I do believe that's our good friends, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle."  
  
Dean snickered and prodded Malfoy's prone form with his toe. "I wonder what happened to /them/ – this is classic, he's got little tentacles on his face."  
  
"Finally," Seamus said, raising his eyes as if in prayer, "He tried to hit something that hit back."  
  
"Or at least Crabbe and Goyle tried to hit it. I'm fairly sure all Malfoy did was mock it a bit."  
  
"That, too. Hmm – shall we?" Seamus indicated the door that the three boys were lying outside of.  
  
"If only to see what happened to them," Dean agreed, and turned the knob.  
  
Inside were Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and three of the Weasley boys, playing that ubiquitous wizard-game, Exploding Snap. "Oh, it's you," Seamus said, another wide grin spreading across his face. "Did you decorate the Three Stooges?"  
  
"That was us," George – or was it Fred? – confirmed.  
  
"They were being gits, as usual," said Fred – or George.  
  
"Really, Fred," Hermione said severely, "There's no need to—"  
  
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said, sounding exasperated, "Even you have to admit they deserved it."  
  
"Well – I suppose, but—"  
  
She got no further, as the entire compartment erupted into laughter. Even Hermione had to grin after a moment, and then she giggled.  
  
"Well, I thank you," Seamus said gravely.  
  
"You've made his day," said Dean, "Really."  
  
"Glad to hear it," one of the twins said airily.  
  
"Laughs are our purpose in life," the other said.  
  
"Glad to know someone's being useful," Dean said, nudging his elbow into Seamus' stomach.  
  
"Hey!" Seamus exclaimed, indignant. "Just because you're a giant gives you no right to—"  
  
"We'll be leaving you now," Dean said grandly, and swept from the room.  
  
-  
  
"Seamus!"  
  
"Mum!"  
  
Though King's Cross Station was a busy hive of people, as always, Seamus had no trouble picking his father from the crowd. Mairi Finnigan was a small, petite witch with sandy blonde hair a shade lighter than Seamus', and blue eyes as bright as her son's. She was smiling her welcome, happy to see him again. "Seamus, you've gotten taller!"  
  
"No he hasn't, Mrs. Finnigan," Dean laughed, causing Seamus to mock-glare.  
  
"Aw now, Dean," Mairi protested, shaking a finger at the boy, "He has, really."  
  
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Finnigan," he said, sounding dubious.  
  
"Seamus, I'll Apparate us back home.... Your father's waiting. Dean? Do you have your bags?"  
  
"Right here, ma'am."  
  
"You can call me Mairi, really."  
  
"Don't mind her," Seamus whispered, "She thinks it makes her look old if she's got people ma'am-ing her."  
  
"I heard that, young man!"  
  
"'Course you did," Seamus replied with a cheeky grin, "It would've been wasted if you didn't."  
  
"You see what I have to deal with, Dean?" Mrs. Finnigan demanded.  
  
Dean laughed. "Keep in mind I go to boarding school with the blighter."  
  
"While you're all deciding how annoying I am," Seamus put in calmly, "These suitcases are pulling my arms from the sockets."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, ait," Mairi said, using her old nickname for him – it meant "glad," or "joyous."  
  
"Sorry all you like," Seamus said with a grumble, "Let's go, mum."  
  
"Right," Mairi said, a bit flustered. She loved to talk, and would often get sidetracked in all sorts of conversations. The entire Finnigan clan would be forced to remind her to stay on the topic, but it was useless – she had a child's love of all things at once, and it was impossible to constrain her. "Take my hand," she told them, and both Dean and Seamus complied. "Now be careful not to let go," Mairi said, a bit guilty, "I probably shouldn't be doing this at all, it's not entirely legal...."  
  
"/Mum/," Seamus said, irked, "Everyone does it."  
  
"Oh, all right!" Mairi exclaimed, and closed her eyes.  
  
The world winked out of focus; it turned completely black. He fell through a void, as though in a dream, endless eternities passing by and by and swirling in front of him in a sickening mass and his hand started to slip and he bit back a scream that wouldn't be heard anyway because of lack of air and he suffocated and choked in the dark and—  
  
His feet landed on solid ground. He dropped his bags onto the ground with a sigh of relief, and looked around him. They had Apparated into the village that was nearest to their farm, a town that was completely devoid of Muggles. There were special rooms that wizards could Apparate into, though technically they were not supposed to bring passengers, especially from such long distances. Mairi was flushed a bit guiltily (and a bit tiredly – it took more effort to carry more people, and bags) as she opened the door and led the two boys out onto the train platform.  
  
"Here we are," she said grandly, the embarrassed blush fading quickly. "And there's your da, ait."  
  
Seamus grinned widely at Eamon, who was sitting on the hood of his timeworn green pickup truck. He was a tall, rather lanky Muggle, with thinning strawberry blond hair and a ready grin. It was obvious which side of the family Seamus took after, in features, and the two shared an understanding impish smile. "'Lo there, boys," Eamon called lazily, "Help your mum with the bags, Seamus, and load them all in the back here." He indicated the back of the truck, "And you can sit there if you want."  
  
"Thanks!" Seamus said, as he and Dean scrambled up into the rear of the truck. "This' a treat," he explained, "Da almost never lets me sit in the back, he usually makes me squeeze in between he'n Ma." It took some squirming to get comfortable, but finally Seamus managed to situate himself on top of a large roll of carpet.  
  
"Hoy! Finnigan!" someone called.  
  
"Yes, Murphy?" Eamon replied calmly, poking his head from the car window.  
  
"Your boy's back, is he? Let's see you then, Seamus," the man Murphy, one of their neighbors, said.  
  
"'Lo, Mr. Murphy," Seamus said, sighing and abandoning his very comfortable position in the back. He stood up and waved at the short, stocky farmer, who also happened to be a graduate of Hogwarts – Hufflepuff, if he remembered correctly. With Mr. Murphy was his daughter, Sadb, who was a Ravenclaw in Seamus' year. She smiled shyly at him, and Seamus fought back the urge to blush, and instead grinned cheekily at her, and winked. Sadb looked away, bright red, and Dean guffawed loudly.  
  
"Hey, Allen, O'Neill; the Finnigan boy's back," Murphy yelled. For such a small man, he had a surprisingly large pair of lungs. His voice carried clear across the station, and a good-sized crowd of well wishers soon surrounded them. Seamus recognized most of them, particularly the black-haired, jovial Mr. Allen, and O'Neill, with the puckered, villainous burn-mark across his face. Dean was watching them with a fascinated look upon his face, and Seamus could tell that his English friend was trying his best to understand what was being said.  
  
Seamus could well sympathize with his evident confusion, for to an unpracticed ear, the thick mixture of accents must by quite trying. "How're your cows, Mr. Allen?" During the Easter vacation, the man had been worried that his cows might have contracted hoof-and-mouth, but apparently that was not the case.  
  
"No, young Finnigan, they're just fine. Lucky seems that the plague has passed us by, mm?"  
  
"There are," said Murphy, sounding rather smug, "Advantages to magic. No hoof-and-mouth, for one."  
  
"Da," Sadb interrupted, "Please let's not talk about cows again."  
  
"Sorry, lads, we're to be going," Eamon cut in, "There's still unpacking to do, and not much time for eating left after." He looked slightly uncomfortable during the discussion: he had moved onto the farm once owned by Mairi's father, and was the only Muggle to be found for miles.  
  
"Stop by some time, Seamus," Allen said, waving, as the sandy-haired boy plopped back down in the back, hidden from sight.  
  
"I will, Mr. Allen. G'bye!" Dean and Seamus waved, and were each forced to catch hold of the sides of the truck as it lurched into a somewhat rusty start.  
  
"We keep telling Da to get a new one," Seamus told Dean, "This is so old and rickety, but he won't bear to be parting with it. He loves this car."  
  
"I just hope he doesn't get into an accident," Dean said, looking somewhat green. Unfortunately, Dean was easily carsick and flightsick, as well. ("That's why I'll never make the Quidditch team.")  
  
"He won't," Seamus said, laughing as he leaned over the edge of the pickup, "Da knows what he's doing." He watched the countryside as it flashed past, just a bit dreamily: though he loved Hogwarts, the cold Scottish highlands were nothing compared to the warm green fields of his home, the tiny village just outside of Galway. It was mostly farms here, though the old-fashioned buildings of the village stuck up stubbornly on the horizon.  
  
Maybe what Seamus loved best about home was the many shades of green that could be found there, all rioting for dominance. The pale verdant of the new leaves turning over, the emerald of the fields of crops, the darker green of the forest tangled in with blackness, and even the artificial olive-emerald of the pickup. Although the road jolted him and knocked him sideways several times, Seamus continued to stare into the distance, and came back to himself only when Dean smacked him on the shoulder.  
  
"Ouch," he said, after a pause.  
  
"Delayed reaction time?"  
  
"Maybe." They unloaded the bags and jumped from the truck, and Seamus sighed as a steady stream of blond heads flooded from the house. "And it begins," he muttered to Dean, out of the side of his mouth. There were five children and a wrinkled woman with almost-white hair that still managed to retain its natural shade of yellow, all yelling cheerful hellos in heavy, almost indecipherable accents (or so they must have seemed to Dean.)  
  
"So, we finally get to meet the infamous Dean!" Caoilte said, pounding the boy exuberantly on the back. Though Dean was quite tall, Caoilte towered over him by nearly a head and a half, and was quite burly besides.  
  
Ciarán, flax-blond and slender, grinned at them as well. "Well, you better hope Caoil doesn't knock his head off before he even gets into the house, and that's the truth."  
  
Máirín, who had Apparated home by herself, just to show off, smiled lazily at him, causing Dean to gulp and, Seamus though, blushed. He needled his friend in the stomach and whispered, "Put your tongue back in your mouth, boy." Dean flushed even brighter, which was remarkable considering his dark complexion, and was in the next moment mobbed by Síle and Reid, a two-child reddish-headed whirlwind.  
  
"I warned you, but you didn't listen!" Seamus managed to yell over the din. He pulled Reid off of Dean's leg, where he was hanging on doggedly, and shooed Síle away from their valises, which she was inspecting with all too much interest, in his opinion. "Mum, we're going up to my room!" Seamus called, and received an absent nod from Mairi as she was engulfed in loving Finnigan-children. Feeling somewhat left out, he shrugged and lugged the bags towards the farmhouse.  
  
"Phew," Dean said, glancing over his shoulder. "They're a handful, they are."  
  
"Told you," Seamus said with a smirk.  
  
-  
  
It was late that night before Seamus and Dean were able to escape from the rest of the family. Seamus' grandmother, Sybilla O'Connor, had cooked a gigantic meal that left all ten of them stuffed and bloated. She was a wonderful cook, but an intense woman, and the barrage of questions that she threw at them about Hogwarts left Seamus stuttering in quite uncharacteristic manner. With a yawn, he stumbled up the steps, followed somewhat more gracefully by Dean.  
  
"I like your family," Dean said drowsily as he dropped onto the camp bed set up in Seamus' room, "They're nice."  
  
"Glad you think so," Seamus said dryly. "But you haven't seen anything yet...."  
  
He dreamt.  
  
The dream was a strange one, as they are wont to be on a full stomach after a long day. With the detached sort of understanding that comes only with sleep and a rather oblique line of sight, he saw that he was wearing strange garb indeed. It was some sort of tunic, red embroidered with gold. He could see his face as well, would-be angel features dashed over with a usual devil-grin. Bright blue eyes stared out in a pale setting, and regal sandy-gold hair shaded his brow. Something in his hand he clutched tightly, but through it all, was a sense of fear close to blind panic. From the shadows loomed a monster-face, contorted with hate, breathing fire. It spoke in a voice that shook the stars, and he shivered nervously. With a roar, it stepped forward, and he was running, running away. The fire crisped his body, and he screamed.  
  
For the second time in as many nights, Seamus woke, breathing heavily, and wiped his sweating forehead. What stuck with him, though, was the feeling of pure dread that had consumed him and sent him running away like a rabbit. He sat up and tucked his knees under his chin. Was he a coward? He knew, that in school he never stood out – that was Harry's job, and Ron's, even if the latter didn't think so. Seamus was the lurker in the backgrounds.  
  
And the hat wanted to put you in Hufflepuff. You remember, don't you?  
  
But it didn't. It put me in Gryffindor.  
  
You're a Hufflepuff at heart and you know it. Stolid. Loyal. Steadfast. Bravery isn't your thing, is it—  
  
Stop! Stop it. I'm a Gryffindor, and I am no coward!  
  
Prove it.  
  
I'll prove it. I'll prove it to myself and the world.  
  
The two voices in his head argued back and forth, the one full of mocking laughter, and the other one vaguely worried that the first voice was right. It was a long time before his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed again.  
  
-  
  
"Seamus, you look like you haven't slept a wink."  
  
"I'm fine," Seamus snapped.  
  
Dean lifted up his hands in a mute gesture of surrender, and Seamus sighed and rubbed his eyes, which he knew to be ringed by thick purple-blue circles. "Sorry, Dean. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Must be the change of climate."  
  
Stretching, Dean yawned and grinned. "You're not used to being away from miserable Scottish weather, are you?"  
  
"Not at all." The yawn was infectious, and for a moment it felt as though his face was going to split in two. "Let's go get some breakfast.... I think I can hear Mum and Granmum arguing about what to make."  
  
"Bet you five Knuts that Sybilla wins."  
  
"I'll take that bet – Mum's got a temper to match with the best of them."  
  
As it turned out, neither woman won. While they spat at each other like two cats clawing over territory, Máirín, with a casual yawn and a slink towards the stove, started up a batch of eggs. As she cooked, the two older women gaped, dumbfounded at her. "What?" she asked innocently, as Dean and Seamus laughed. "As pretty as they are, words don't feed hungry stomachs."  
  
"Thank you, Máirín, for those gems of wisdom," Ciarán put in satirically.  
  
"You're welcome, O Fountain of Mirth."  
  
"Enough!" Caoilte pleaded, from his place slumped at the breakfast table, "I can't take sarcasm this early in the morning."  
  
"I'm going to have to agree with Caoil, children," Eamon said as he squeezed his way into the kitchen. "Ooof. Someone make room for an old arthritic Muggle?"  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Mr. Finnigan," Dean said seriously, though his eyes twinkled, "You're not that arthritic."  
  
"Ah, the boy has a sense of humor," Eamon said approvingly, then glanced at the stove inquisitively. "What's that?"  
  
"That, Daddy, is eggs," Máirín said.  
  
"Maybe you should let me make them," Eamon said, frowning, as a long plume of smoke rose from the pan.  
  
"I can do it!" she insisted.  
  
"You can, but whether we want to eat it is another story entirely," Seamus interrupted.  
  
Máirín stuck her tongue out at him, causing Caoilte to sigh and rub his temples. "No one listens to me, anyway."  
  
-  
  
"Exploring?" said Seamus, disbelief entirely evident in his voice.  
  
"Well, I've never been to the farm before, and I'd like to poke around."  
  
"There's not much to see," Seamus said, resting his elbows on the porch railing. "There's the house, there's the fields, there's the barn.... Take your pick."  
  
"D' you have any basements or attics or some cool place like that?" Dean wanted to know.  
  
"No basements, sorry," Seamus said. "There's the vegetable cellar, but it's got a bunch of onions and garlic hanging from the roof. Not the most hospitable environment for poking around."  
  
"An attic?"  
  
"Dusty and sneeze inducing," Seamus said, sounding resigned, "But I suppose you're determined to go up anyway?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Let's go in, then, and you can dig up Finnigan family secrets."  
  
"Sounds like fun."  
  
Seamus leaned over the railing, craning his head to the side in order to observe Mairi, who was sitting on her knees and gardening. She had a green thumb, of sorts, and flowers of all shapes and colors rioted against the whitewashed walls of the farmhouse. Seamus liked plants, as well, though he preferred trees and forests. There was a certain calm to be had in the presence of growing things; they exuded an energy and tranquility that wasn't to be found many places, anymore.  
  
"Mum?"  
  
"Yes, ait?"  
  
"We'll be upstairs if you need us."  
  
"Okay, dear."  
  
They tramped upstairs to the very top level. There were five stories in the Finnigan farmhouse, four, not counting the attic. It was a triangular room, the shape caused by the tapering of roof to a point. Shoved inside the attic were all manner of things, but it was difficult to find out exactly what. Most of the things there were shoved into boxes and relegated to corners, though there were several cobweb-covered bits of furniture balanced precariously in the center.  
  
"Cool!" Dean said happily, and padded lightly across the floor. "I love old things – the connection with the past—"  
  
Seamus sighed, sneezed, and cleared some of the cobwebs from a creaky rocking chair, and sat down in it, closing his eyes. Sleep was not far off....  
  
The man's face was obscured in darkness. His voice was a lilting brogue, as he spoke in a musical tone. "My Lord.... They will find it soon. Shall I make haste?" A cold, cruel voice answered him, and to the sleeping boy, it seemed as though snakes hissed along in concert with it. "You shall. Do not fail me in this, Tuatha de Danaan." The first voice, when it answered, dripped with fire and sincerity. "I will not fail you, My Lord."  
  
"Seamus?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You fell asleep again."  
  
"Oh, sorry.... How long was I out?"  
  
"Fifteen minutes or so. I only woke you up because you /have/ to see what I found."  
  
"Something besides old clothes and family pictures?"  
  
Dean was excited, his face animated, and his hands, waving, accidentally hit the ceiling and snagged on a nail. "Ouch," he said, sucking on his bleeding finger. Even that did not damp his enthusiasm, and the boy waved with his remaining hand over to one corner of the attic. "You're never going to believe this, Seamus, look at it."  
  
"Look where?"  
  
"Here!" Dean said, throwing out his arm dramatically.  
  
Seamus' mouth fell open.  
  
What lay on the floor was like nothing Seamus had ever seen. The object was long and thin, about five inches taller than he was. It was of polished wood, a deep color that rippled with iridescence, and at one end was an iron tip in the shape of a willow leaf, about a foot long, and apparently sharp enough to do a good amount of damage. His fingers itched to pick it up. "A spear? But – how – we never had anything like that." Seamus shoved his hands into his pockets. He was not going to lift that thing. He'd hurt someone. Hurt himself.  
  
"Well, obviously, you have," Dean said, amused. They both stared at the spear for a long moment.  
  
Seamus thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful, which was quite odd. He normally didn't go crazy over weapons, but there was something deadly and perfect about the polished segment of wood and metal that appealed to some primal part of him that had never yet been woken. Seamus scrubbed a hand across his face, blinking. The whole fighting over cows bit of Irish had never really shown in his family, but this spear seemed to be a relic of those exact times. And it scared him, in a way.  
  
"Let's – let's go back downstairs," he said, after a second's pause, still staring at the spear.  
  
"All right," said Dean, amused, "Perhaps you'll want to stop drooling over a deadly weapon, first."  
  
"I'm not drooling!" Seamus insisted, and just as suddenly grinned. "Okay, maybe I am."  
  
"I don't /want/ to know what sort of psychological explanation this could have," Dean said, snickering.  
  
"Watch it, Thomas," Seamus said, and wrenched his eyes away from the weapon on the floor. "Let's go."  
  
-  
  
The man threw the bridle over the horse's back. The bridle contained three hairs from the horse's tail, and would enable him to ride it easily. Its hair was dark and would have blended with the night, if not for the poisonous yellow eyes and streaming coal-gray mane. Only one man before him had ever ridden a pooka, but there was no need to become another Brian Boru, with the power of Lord Voldemort behind him. There was Tuatha de Danaan blood in his veins, as well, and that did not hurt. The horse spoke to him in a raspy voice, and he laughed with the wind and the stars. He was coming, and the boy should fear him. To stand against Lord Voldemort was to stand against death.  
  
-  
  
Seamus, unable to resist the temptation, slipped from the table while the rest of his family and Dean were eating dinner that night. "Where are you going, ait?" Mairi asked.  
  
"The loo," Seamus muttered, causing Síle and Reid to giggle uncontrollably.  
  
"Now, that isn't funny," Eamon told them, though his eyes crackled with mirth.  
  
Seamus made a face at his two younger siblings, and made his escape. Up to the attic he ran, where the spear remained, lying on the floor as though waiting for him. Seamus' hands twitched as he debated actually picking the thing up. Finally, temptation overpowered reason and he leaned over, hefting the weapon into his hands. It fit perfectly, as though he'd been without the spear for years, and had just again found it. It slid into his palms coolly, with a feel of strong wood.  
  
Through the window he could see something moving towards the home – a man on a horse, a horse with sulfur-yellow eyes and black hair – a pooka? Seamus thought dazedly. The man – and the fae – halted before the house. There was a loud bang, and a scream. Voices. "Where is it?" a deep tone growled. He could hear sounds as though someone was casting magic, and his father's voice yelling for Dean and the Finnigan children to RUN!  
  
With the spear still clutched in his hands, he ran down the stairs, almost tripping over the wood and his own feet as he rushed for the kitchen. He rounded the corner and saw – Mr. /Allen/? Mr. Allen, but with eyes of fire and little tongues of flame dripping from his mouth. The short man had grown until he towered above Seamus' family, a terrifying specter that the boy recognized from his dreams. The man – the thing – had not noticed him yet, and was now playing beautiful music – lovely music on a harp, such as Seamus had never heard. This didn't make sense.  
  
No sense at all.  
  
He was tired, so tired. All he wanted to do was lay his head down and sleep and, Seamus noted absently, that's what the rest of his family were doing. One by one, their heads dropped to the table or to the floor, depending on what sort of position they'd been in when Mr. Allen – the.... thing had arrived. As he slipped to fall to the floor, as well, the spear hit him hard in the forehead. Seamus saw stars for a minute, and then a wet trickling that seemed uncomfortably like blood.  
  
He was awake, now, as he had not been in days. "Mr. Allen!" he screamed over the soft, insipid music that sank into the bloodstream, "MR. ALLEN! Get out!" 'Get out?' Seamus fought back the sudden urge to laugh. Was this how Harry felt, when facing some evil creature or other? To tell the truth, Seamus' knees were knocking together, and he had utterly no clue what to say. But somehow, he had to protect the family that had nurtured him these years, and his best friend.  
  
"Aillen!" Mr. Allen screamed back, his eyes narrowing. "It's AILLEN." The fire spurted furiously from his orifices, and he took a step closer to the sandy-haired boy, who hefted the spear defensively. "You'll give me the spear, boy, if you know what's good for you."  
  
Oddly enough, Mairi's voice echoed in his head. "There was once a boy named Fionn Mac Cumhal," it whispered, "And this is the story of the Salmon of Knowledge."  
  
"No," Seamus said coldly. It was a voice so icy that it hardly sounded like him.  
  
"You were always stubborn, Fionn," Aillen said, "And this is a battle that has been fought many times before. This time I will break the cycle. There is no sídhe mound for me to run to, where you can stab me in the back!"  
  
Seamus stared at him, dumbfounded. Things were getting steadily weirder as the night progressed. He had found a spear in his attic. A man breathing fire through his eyes had ridden a faery into his kitchen, and put Seamus' family to sleep with a magic harp. And now the giant man-creature was calling him Fionn, one of the great heroes of Erin.   
  
Things were definitely getting weird.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Aillen's face, as far as Seamus could see through the fire, had taken on a mocking cast. "You're Fionn. But you're not him. You're scared. You're weak. You're a coward, Fionn! This will be easy," he said, eyes gleaming nastily. "I'm going to take that spear to Lord Voldemort, and you can do nothing to stop me."  
  
Seamus' brain spun crazily for a moment. Lord Voldemort and Irish mythology did not seem to be entirely compatible, but then again, he was not one to argue with a fire-breathing creature in the kitchen. Or was he? "I'm not a coward!" he snapped. "I'm not scared."  
  
"Don't play innocent with me, Fionn," Aillen mocked. "You're ready to piss in your breeches. You couldn't use that spear if you'd wanted to. But I don't think I'm going to waste time. I think I'm going to kill you now, and then I will have revenge for centuries in the never-will suffering at your hands," he growled, and opened his mouth.  
  
One of those same primal instincts inside of Seamus that told him to go out and fight over herds of cows asserted itself, and he knew that if he let Aillen take the full breath, it would be the end of him. There would be a storm of fire, and—  
  
  
—With a roar, it stepped forward, and he was running, running away. The fire crisped his body, and he screamed.—  
  
—Made a tentative thrust. It went wide, hitting Aillen on the arm and causing black blood to spurt upwards like a geyser. Aillen screamed, a truly terrible sound, and flames flickered forward, burning Seamus' face pink and blistered.  
  
He lunged forward, stabbing the spear upwards towards where he supposed Aillen's heart would be. With a terrible scream, the creature struck out with its hands, huge clawed paws the slapped Seamus in the face and chest. His shirt was torn away, leaving a line of five bloody marks there, and his lip split open as he was thrown backwards. Aillen stood up, roaring its fury, and Seamus scrambled backwards on all fours, desperate. He had no weapons, his wand was stuck in his pants pocket—  
  
But Aillen gave another terrible scream and toppled forward, the spear still protruding from his chest like a mast, and knocked Seamus over. Everything was a tangle of skin and hot blood and metal and wood, but Seamus managed to pull himself out from underneath the demon-man, which had been his neighbor Mr. Allen. Breathing heavily, he shook with the reaction of losing the adrenaline, and suddenly, he ached all over.  
  
From the table, his family stirred, and gaped at the body on the floor, and then at Seamus, who was attempting to tug his spear from its heart. Mairi rushed forward as soon as she was able to stand, sobbing, and threw her arms around her son. "Um, hi," he said tentatively, meeting the stunned gazes of the assembled company.  
  
-  
  
So I found out that sometimes, courage is there when you need it most. I found out that those you trust might not always be the ones you should trust, and I found out that family is one of the most important things in the world.  
  
But mostly, I found out that battling demons in the kitchen is probably not the best idea in the world. It tends to leave quite a mess.  
  
-  
  
"So what are you going to do with that thing?" Dean Thomas asked lazily, as they sat outside on a hill.  
  
"No idea," Seamus replied, "I don't think it wants to leave...."  
  
Dean grinned. "You know, you did warn me about your family – but I wasn't expecting /anything/ like that."  
  
"Neither was I," Seamus said, sounding so morose that both of them had to laugh. Seamus sighed, and looked up at the sky, and was content within himself.  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas belong to J. K. Rowling. Seamus' family and expanded personality belong to me, and Irish myths converted to the HP world belong to everyone. If you want to check out more information on certain myths, you can visit http://www.uark.edu/studorg/stpa/fionn.html and for more info on pookas, http://www.scoileanna.com/~derekd/creatin.htm. Please review! 


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